The Wistful Mountain

added blog Literature

2026-08-18 23:21:23 -

The gatehouse stood alone on the ridge. It was a structure of black stone and heavy iron. I left it behind. I walked down the slope. My boots crunched on the gravel. The air was thin. It tasted of rust. I was a soldier. I had worn the uniform for years. Now I wore a coat of grey wool. I carried no weapon. I carried only the weight of what I knew. The command had called me a traitor. They said I...

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